


Tax Free

by napuleh



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: CLAM DOWN, Gen, Historical Inaccuracy, LISTEN IT'S THE 1800S, Underage Smoking, and i don't care, i dont fuckin know how much tobacco was taxed back then
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 02:28:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17194784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/napuleh/pseuds/napuleh
Summary: It's the 1850s. Before being consumed by pre-independence panic, Napule complains a fuck ton while Sicily smuggles him a favor, and everything is very simple for at least a few moments.





	Tax Free

**Author's Note:**

> vincenzo -> south italy, viola -> a wonderful, not-mine sicily oc

“I think they’re gone,” Vincenzo ‘whispers’ too loudly, fingers gripping the edge of the brick behind which they hid themselves. She pinches a roll of his back before taking a peek herself, delighted at the sight of nothing. Nobody. His little search party was gone.  _Finally_. “I thought they would never leave, truthfully!”

“It doesn’t matter now, they’re gone- at least for a few moments- now hurry, we may not even get another chance at this for at least a week, and I don’t plan on staying for longer than I should.”

“They’re so fucking overbearing!”

Vincenzo delights in their shared solitude, although the circumstances are most unfortunate, by lighting up a very carefully-made cigarette. He shouldn’t know how to roll them so well, or so quickly, she thinks, but a scugnizzo is a scugnizzo no matter how well dressed he is, and even princelings have their vices. Before speaking up again, he drops a sack of coins into the palm of her hand. Transaction completed, tax free, baby.

“They don’t want me smoking anymore. What do I look like, a five year old?“

“You sound like one,” she teases, making sure to count out the money. It’s of dubious origin, everybody knows Vincenzo Maria can’t keep a job because of his …terrible personality, but it’s all real and seems to be the amount agreed upon. “Who is ‘they’ this time?”

“Oh, as  _usual_ , Spagna, Franza,” he counts them off on his fingers as he goes, “this stupid Milanese, Garibaldi. I don’t even know why he’s up my ass, but he is now, so that’s fucking fantastic.” A deep breath would benefit him more than the tobacco he’s asked of her, but it’s nice to catch up, as well. “It’s insanity. Complete insanity. Like I’m being pulled in every direction at the same time.”

“Well, you did write to me that you were bored. That shouldn’t be the case now that you’re constantly accompanied.” Viola laughs at the sour face he pulls. “Not so much fun, being on the other side of it, hm?”

“I’ve only ever been present- that doesn’t count as  _participating_!”

“Oh, whatever helps you sleep at night. Thank you for the candies, by the way.”

“And the delivery man?” She pinches him again. “ _Ow_. I’m just saying, he wasn’t wearing lipstick when I sent him to you, and then he was!”

“Don’t think about it too much. That’s not very godly of you.”

“I’m not that fond of God lately anyways. I can’t find peace outside of here,” Vin gestures loosely, obviously not meaning the place (it was just a crate, a wall, and now the ashes of his cigarette) but their small reunions. “I swear, it’s like, the more I grow the more-”

“The more they try to control you?” Been there, done that. “You’re preaching to the choir.”

“You’re  _really_ terrible, Viola. I hope you know that.”

“ _A-huh_. Make sure to mask the smell with something before heading back in, boy,” she says, ruffling his hair lightly, much to his annoyance. But it isn’t annoying enough to keep him from extending a hand out to her, physically, metaphorically.

“Why don’t you come with? There are at least three cakes,” he brags (accidentally), “of the highest caliber. I think the oranges were an import from your place, actually, so, maybe…”

“So long as you pin that on some other fellow? Sure.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. There are at least five other people in that ballroom who at some point or another have smuggled something to me. Actually, I think I could pin this on Prussia. It’s  _certainly_ more believable.”

Viola has begun to entertain the idea, and she shakes the young man’s hand…

“What did you say the other cakes were made of, again?”

Vin beams. “Oh, honey, only the finest…”


End file.
